


Finding if we only see...

by kaalee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Hogwarts Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-01
Updated: 2007-07-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 14:58:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaalee/pseuds/kaalee
Summary: Set during HBP: Neville and Harry find themselves back in the Room of Requirement and find need and understanding in new and different places.  [Harry/Neville]





	Finding if we only see...

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written for [](http://krabapple.livejournal.com/profile)[**krabapple**](http://krabapple.livejournal.com/) in [](http://community.livejournal.com/merry_smutmas/profile)[**merry_smutmas**](http://community.livejournal.com/merry_smutmas/) 2005\. It's meant to take place within the framework of HBP. Many, many thanks to my wonderful, tireless betas [](http://danijo1.livejournal.com/profile)[**danijo1**](http://danijo1.livejournal.com/), [](http://florahart.livejournal.com/profile)[**florahart**](http://florahart.livejournal.com/), [](http://magicofisis.livejournal.com/profile)[**magicofisis**](http://magicofisis.livejournal.com/), and [](http://willysunny.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://willysunny.livejournal.com/)**willysunny**. ♥  


* * *

**Finding if we only see...**   
**Harry/Neville, rated R**

.::.~.::.~.::.

The first time it happens it isn't planned or even real actually. It just sort of... happens.

The Galleon glows and heats up in his pocket and Neville is startled enough from his project in the Greenhouse that he nearly drops it when he pulls it out. He's confounded, really. _There must be something going on!_ So, he runs, takes off, leaves every bit of the _Bundergeous_ plant there even though it won't be planted in the sixty-seven seconds that it allows before rotting and then curling into flame, but this... well, this is important.

It has been nearly a half year since he's been in the Room of Requirement, and he has to fight to remember how to make the door appear. It takes him nearly two full minutes and he's cursing himself when he finally gets it open, _knowing_ he's going to be the last bloody person in there and he'll look like a right prat in front of everyone again.

When the door finally appears, Neville bursts in, much more dramatically than he'd planned (he'd hoped to just sort of let himself in quietly, so no one would see him coming in late), and can feel his chest heaving with exertion and near panic as he looks around the empty room.

_Oh._

Neville blinks and spies Harry over in the corner of the room. He doesn't know what to say. "I, uh-"

"Hey, Nev," Harry says, squinting at him before pushing his glasses back up his nose.

"Did you... _need_ us?" he asks, breath coming in sharp pants.

"For what?"

"The Galleon. It was- it got..." Neville shifts his weight. "I thought it was the signal."

Harry looks up at him for a long moment, confused. Finally, a look of comprehension passes over his face and Harry smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, Nev," he said. "Was just fooling around with it, really."

"You didn't mean for us to- you don't need us, then?"

"Nah, sorry 'bout that."

"All right, then," Neville says, feeling dreadfully stupid. He tries to hold his shoulders up and square as he walks out.

He isn't needed.  
  
.::.~.::.~.::.

 

Neville lies in bed, staring up at the ratty canopy that he hasn't yet figured out how to fix with mending charms. He isn't sure if he wants to mend them, though, because the holes make a familiar, comforting pattern that he's come to look for when he lies down at night.

Tonight he can't stop thinking about what people need.

Once, his gran had given him a long lecture (worse than when she yelled, actually, because of the look she always got when she lectured) about human needs. He'd just whined to her about not wanting to go to St. Mungo's because he needed to finish up this comic.

Her lips had stretched until they were thinner than air and she'd summoned the comic from his hand with a whispered charm. "You don't need to read this piece of rubbish, Neville Augustus Longbottom."

_Bloody hell,_ he'd thought. _Now I've gone and done it._

"You _need_ to breathe. You _need_ to sleep. You _need_ to eat - though you probably shouldn't work on that need so much as you already do," the last part had been said under her breath but he'd heard it nevertheless.

He'd tuned her out after that, but not before that point was permanently affixed in his brain the way all of her quiet admonishments are. He thinks about it now. Needs aren't just _do-it-or-die_ propositions, though. They can be small, really. Small and not quite necessary, but importantly, achingly _real._

Needs like... holding Trevor in his hand and feeling the gentle heart beat quickly after rescuing him from the first year that thought he was trying to ruin her essay.

Needs like... collecting everything his mum has ever given him in case there's something that she's trying to tell him.  
  
Needs like... pulling himself off when everything else in the world feels wrong and he just needs to feel something more than the throbbing pain suffocating him when everyone else has a partner and he's been fucking left out. Again.

Needs like... well, everything.

He reaches for himself, biting his lip to keep quiet and pulls in a slow, dry rhythm until he feels the warm shudders spread under his skin and he arches up once, tensing his muscles, before he shoots all over his hand.

God, he _needed_ that.

.::.~.::.~.::.  


 

The next night he's twirling the Galleon in his fingers, testing the weight of it, marveling at how like a real Galleon it is. _Hermione is so talented_ , he thinks as he walks along the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower.  
  
When it heats up again, Neville almost drops it. _Could it-_ No. Not two nights in a row. He shakes his head and continues walking toward the common room. It had been a fluke last night, a joke really. So, if he shows up tonight, he'll just look sort of pathetic.  
  
Right?  
  


.::.~.::.~.::.  


 

  
"What do you think about Draco Malfoy?" Harry asks without preamble when Neville enters the room a few minutes later.  
  
"Malfoy?" Neville repeats dumbly.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Dunno."  
  
Harry just watches him and Neville's face heats up a little. "Well. I don't like him, but... I kind of respect him in a strange way. It's like-" He steals a look at Harry's face, but Harry is only nodding, not looking horrified nor fit to bolt, so he continues, "It's just interesting how completely one dimensional he used to be, but now... it's like there's more going on than there used to be."  
  
"Yeah," Harry says, nodding and looking thoughtfully down at his wand. "Yeah."  
  


.::.~.::.~.::.  


 

  
"Why do you think no one else comes?" Neville asks a few days later. This time he's shown up the moment the Galleon starts to grow warm. It takes him less than four seconds to get the door to appear.  
  
Harry shrugs, watching him.  
  
"I think I might know," Neville says quietly. "I think it's that they don't need it anymore. They all have their lives and their friends and there isn't any evil Headmistress to be working against anymore. There isn't any thrill. They don't... need it."  
  
"You said that already," Harry says, stepping closer. Harry's bottom lip is full and a pale sort of pink. Neville wonders, inexplicably, what they might feel like pressed on his neck, if they'd be hot or soft and- bloody hell, it was _Harry_ that he'd been thinking about when he was pulling himself off the other night. Oh, _fuck._  
  
"Yeah," Neville says, trying to sound like he's paying attention, "Yeah, I know. But it's different for them. For me, it's..." he looks up and Harry is suddenly, overwhelmingly there. He swallows, looking at Harry's eyelashes, so long and... he can't talk anymore because the air has been swallowed up by the gaping hole that has opened in the center of his chest.  
  
There is a brief moment where Neville wonders how he constantly gets into situations that he doesn't understand. But then, _oh,_ they are kissing softly. Harry's lips are warm, firm, and his breath tastes like a tentative murmur. It's better than sleeping, worse than chocolate, but for some reason, Neville doesn't mind. He pulls back an inch, opening his mouth and licking his lips before sliding back against wet-Harry-god- _yes._  
  
Images flood his mind, doubts, and Neville imagines Harry pushing him away in disgust. He freezes, unable to focus as his vision tunnels. He doesn't need this; doesn't need another reason to be someone to pity. "I'm sorry," he gasps as he pulls away and stumbles blindly out the door.  
  


.::.~.::.~.::.  


 

The canopy has only three small holes in it now; he's been practicing some mending charms recently. Staring at it, Neville reaches into his pyjama bottoms and closes his eyes. He doesn't stroke or move, feeling like he shouldn't do this.  
  
He hears the door open and footsteps padding across the room. "Nev?" Harry says quietly outside his canopy. "I'm... sorry."  
  
Neville doesn't say anything, but he thinks that there are times when you might need something or someone, but not as an always. Not as a constant. That maybe, just maybe, things can just be what they _are_... separate from everything else.  
  
He hears Harry walk over to his bed and his mind shifts into that kiss... how it sent tingles twisting down the back of his neck until he could feel every pore on his body raised at full attention and scraping at the insides of his clothes. He thinks of Harry's mouth, thinks of what it might look like swollen and stretched wide around his cock. He curls his fist, moving finally, trying to make the feelings match. And they almost... _do._  
  


.::.~.::.~.::.  


 

The Galleon glows warm as he's walking out of the Great Hall after dinner the next day and Neville thinks for a long time about Harry's apology the night before. If he'd not panicked, they could've... _oh._  
  
His pace quickens and his feet carry him automatically over the familiar path. Neville hasn't even fully opened the door before _he's_ pushing against Harry this time... on him, over and around and pressing against him. Lips against lips, _wetfullsloppy_ , and tongues trying to make sense of new things.  
  
Neville thinks he might be dying or in a trance or falling off a fucking hippogriff, it's so surreal, but he can't stop. Harry's hand is clutching at his t-shirt and he's the one walking them forward, pressing their bodies together and bumping them hard against the wall. Harry moans deep in his throat and presses an open-mouthed kiss against Neville's neck. He shivers, feeling the - _god_ \- feeling the sharp of Harry's teeth dragging along his skin. All at once he wants this to last forever and end immediately so he can start to relive it.   
  
"Harry, _fuck_ ," he moans when Harry bites the skin of his neck. Their hips come into sudden contact and Neville can barely breathe for the sensations coursing through him. If feelings were Potions, Neville would be acing the entire _class._  
  
Tangling his fingers in Harry's hair, Neville tilts his head back and lets Harry suck on the skin of his neck. It - _oh god_ \- feels hot and cold and he reaches blindly between them to unfasten Harry's trousers. Somewhere, some part of his mind must be shocked at his gall, but Neville can't think but to want this. The colours of the walls appear to be melting as Neville's eyes flutter. He thinks the world might have stopped or perhaps there is something magical in Harry's mouth that makes his body feel like it is on fire. Razor-sharp prickles spread outward over the entire surface of his skin, scraping him raw, and Neville wonders if you can come simply from someone sucking just _there_ on your neck.  
  
It's too much all at once, so Neville pushes Harry away, pressing his own sucking kiss against Harry's neck before kneeling down and pulling Harry's boxers down over his hips. Harry's cock is thin and shining at the tip and Neville swallows, realizing what he's about to do. He thinks, _wow_ , and _am I really going to-_ before leaning forward two inches and sliding his mouth around Harry's cock. _Oh god._  
  
It's so suddenly there and hard and filling his mouth and Neville has to swallow back a cough, lest he bite down. He doesn't know much, but he's quite sure that teeth and cocks Just Don't Mix. The taste is like nothing he's ever imagined because it's so simple... normal, really. Neville feels powerful, fucking _unstoppable_ , and he reaches down to cup Harry's bollocks with his fingers.  
  
"Nev," Harry pants, his hand grappling at the wall behind him. "Nev, don't _stop._ "  
  
Neville hollows his cheeks as he sucks deeply, taking as much into his mouth as he can. He can feel his own cock straining painfully inside his trousers, but he wants to make Harry come. He wants to hear Harry's ragged voice, to feel him shudder and, _damn_ , why didn't he know that this is so much better than wanking in bed.  
  
Harry drags him up by his underarms and tries to reach between their bodies to fumble at his buttons, but they're pressed too tightly together - kissing now, kissing again, kissing every fucking _breath_. Harry's hands are clumsy and Neville thinks that might be the most endearing thing ever. "Can't-" Harry pants, "can't... unfasten your... tr-trousers."  
  
Moving his hips, Neville fumbles at his trousers with a quick motion. He tugs everything down and then looks up at Harry. Their eyes meet briefly, widen when they both realize what they're about to do. Their hands brush as they just sort of reach for each other, Harry's hand going over as his own hand goes under, and then... _oh bloody hell_.  
  
Neville freezes because he's never, never had another hand on his cock before, let alone wet and male and outside of his _bed._  
  
Harry's cock feels strange in his hand, foreign and inverted, and he almost wants to twist around so his hand is going the right way. But then Harry's hand starts to move and white lights explode behind his eyes and he cries out. Neville strokes slowly, but holds tight, the way he imagines Harry might do and when he feels Harry pant in his ear, Neville wonders if he'll ever be able to breathe properly again. Suddenly, Neville feels something hard brush his cock and he makes a sound that doesn't feel human. He doesn't think he's ever been this turned on in his life and he feels something salty flooding the back of his jaw.  
  
"Harry," he pants, as the familiar coiling twists inside him, "g-gonna _come._ " Neville gets the words out just in time before he - _oh_ , and he... he can't- can't even... oh, _god_. He comes with a shudder and an outspread, blissful ache; the fire burning under his skin is liquid and hot and _perfect._ The sudden wet spurt on his own hand doesn't register in his mind for a long while as he slowly discovers how to breathe again.  
  
The air is oddly still around them and they half-heartedly grin at each other before sinking to the floor.  
  
Several minutes later, Harry looks at him and says, "I've got to tell you something."  
  


.::.~.::.~.::.  


 

  
Neville lies under the canopy and lets everything wash over him. He thinks of his parents, trapped now in their own minds. He thinks of them as Aurors, with friends and jobs and him when he was a baby. He thinks of Harry's parents, dead now, perhaps even worse off than his own, and wonders if maybe prophecies can encompass so many lives. He thinks of what everyone has always said about him, but he no longer agrees with them. He thinks about learning spells and charms and hexes; that he needs to know them so that he can be prepared for whatever may come. He wonders if his parents had known about the Prophecy, and if they were relieved that it wasn't... him.  
  
He murmurs a spell that mends the last of the tears on his canopy, throws off the covers, and stretches. When he sleeps, he dreams tentative, tangible dreams of possibility.  
  


.::.~.::.~.::.  


 

  
When the Galleon glows this time, he knows it's different. Grabbing his wand, he takes off, running through the corridors, fully alert. He stumbles only once before he finds Professor Lupin and they both fend off what feels like a hundred Death Eaters that Neville can't even think to wonder how in the bloody _hell_ they got in.  
  
There's something ahead of him; he can see them disappear up the stairs to Dumbledore’s office. Neville suspects that he won't be able to get through, but something tells him that everyone needs Professor Lupin here and safe a little more than they need him right now and that is really, really okay. He runs toward the barrier, feels a rush of anticipation before he's thrown backward, hard. As he flies through the air, his body relaxes into a feeling of calm acceptance.  
  
He wakes in the hospital wing feeling... proud.  
  


.::.~.::.~.::.  


 

  
  
Neville sits among his classmates during Dumbledore's funeral, but none of their faces seem to register in his mind. He thinks of Harry and Ginny, of Luna and Hermione, of Ron and Professor Lupin and Tonks. He wonders who he'll see again next year and what the summer will bring. He doesn't cry, because somehow, things don't feel so lost anymore.  
  
They don't let anyone too close to Dumbledore's tomb, but Neville walks as close as he can and pauses. There are so many things that he feels like he should say, and yet...   
  
The fading notes of the phoenix song shimmer through his ears and Neville smiles. He reaches into his pocket, fingering the Galleon. He pauses for a moment and then lets the Galleon drop next to the tomb. He watches the grass spring back up around it and closes his eyes briefly before turning and making his way boldly back up to the castle.  
  


.::.~.::.~.::.  


  
  
Thank you so much for reading! ♥


End file.
